


my roses (I didn't know what I was thinking)

by mihrsuri



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mirror Universe, Multi, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:46:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihrsuri/pseuds/mihrsuri
Summary: A man appears behind him. It is a man who wears his face. Who is him, Henry thinks without alarm. Or Henry Tudor and what could have been.





	my roses (I didn't know what I was thinking)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllegoriesInMediaRes (AllegoriesInMediasRes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/gifts).



Henry was tired. Tired down to his very soul and what was worse, he seemed to be here still - a ghost in his own court, already half out of life for the visits of his former wives had proved that. Today, today he mostly just wants it to be over for good or for ill (part of him is no longer sure that the Lord will be kind to him or indeed that Lord should be kind to him). He no longer wishes to be here, tired and in pain with spectres all around him. 

Even his children give him echoes of ghosts. Mary, so much her mother, so stubborn and oh he can see how she is hardening in some ways, how adamant she is about the faith that has sustained her throughout these years. Perhaps he should have given her a marriage but he could not, not while Edward yet remains too young to have children of his own. And he can see Mary’s kindness too - she loves her siblings, despite everything. 

(Everything he has done, a voice whispers to Henry that he pretends not to hear)

Sometimes he feels he barely knows Edward, for all he had once vowed otherwise. I have almost been too scared to know him, Henry thinks, in case he was taken from me and from England so I kept him away. He thinks of Jane’s accusations and…surely, surely he has not killed his precious boy. Surely, surely he has done better than that? He had only ever meant to keep Edward safe, to make sure that he grew safely and that had meant that all care would be taken. Even if it meant Edward would not have a childhood, it was far more important that England have a King after Henry. 

Elizabeth. Elizabeth. He loves Elizabeth - it is very difficult to not love Elizabeth (he keeps a portrait of her in his private rooms along with his other children) but sometimes he cannot bear to see the truth in her eyes (you killed her innocent mother, you made her a bastard, you denied she was your daughter) however much he might deny it. She is too grown up, too serious and far too wary and yet she takes care to never let him see it. Because she fears him, though she loves him, a voice whispers to him. 

All his children seem to fear him as much as they love him. 

Henry wrenches his mind away from such thoughts with an effort and tries to focus on his papers but he finds he cannot and is just about to call for a groom to help him to bed when suddenly, the door behind him slams shut and a man appears behind him. 

It is a man who wears his face. Who is him, Henry thinks without alarm (has he not been visited by the ghosts of his wives, why should he not also be visited by the spectre of himself). It is him, as he could have been. They are the same age, the two of them but the other Henry is well and there is happiness in every part of him. The other Henry looks vital and alive even though he is the spectre and Henry is the living man. 

“Who are you?” he asks, even though he knows the answer and the man who is him looks at him. 

“I am you, Henry, as you could have been.” He offers his hand and Henry looks at his other self and takes it still in a daze. “I will show you what could have been and perhaps how you could change things for the better still.” 

Suddenly, Suddenly Henry finds himself young again as he takes the hand of his other self. Suddenly there is a door opening in his chamber and he goes through, still unable to think that surely, surely this must be a dream but no, it feels real. Feels solid. 

He is standing in the gardens of Hampton Court but it is not the Hampton Court that Henry knows - one that is old and tired and grasping. This, this is a place filled with colour, with life. And there are children playing in the garden. 

“Yes Henry” his other self says, “they are my children, the children that could have been yours. And no, they cannot see us or hear us - this is a lesson for you for the Lord wishes you to see what could have been so that you might do better.” 

It is Mary Henry sees first - but it is not the Mary he knows, the Mary that has been worn down by years of suffering and pain. This Mary is smiling as she watches the children playing. 

“She has three children of her own who are not much older than my youngest” his other self says, with pride and love in his voice. “I have not always managed to do right by her but now, now she is happy and loved and has the family she has always wanted.” 

“…Did?” Henry asks 

“Yes, I was granted my annulment. I asked for it after Fitzroy was born but then I fought to legitimise him but it had not happened before he died - I did not treat Mary as well as I should have done then.” 

Then, then Henry sees Elizabeth but it is not the Elizabeth he knows, who is too guarded, too aware of what can be lost. This is an Elizabeth who has always been a Princess, who has always been secure in the love of her parents. And then, then Henry sees him. 

The boy is his image but somehow, somehow Henry knows that he is Anne’s son. Every bit the golden prince that Anne had promised him, that he had dreamed of when they were both in love and dreaming of their marriage. He can see Anne in him - something in the way he holds himself, the way he smiles. 

“This, this is Thomas.” the other Henry says and there is such pride and love in his voice that it makes Henry’s heart ache. This is a man who knows his son, whose son knows him and loves him. “He was born on the 19th of May 1536″ and Henry, Henry can feel himself stiffen. He has tried to feel nothing about…that day. Has tried to bury all of it, even bury Elizabeth because he cannot bear it and now it is there in front of him and the pain is still as fresh as ever. 

(You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. It is a refrain he has tried to drown out, tried to bury and he cannot and it has made him angrier sometimes but now he just wants to scream, wants to rip it out of himself). 

And then, then he sees the other children. “George, our Duke of York” (a dark haired boy who is Anne in everything but his curly hair) “William and Margaret” who are both red haired and fighting with wooden swords. Another boy named Owen who is sitting quietly. 

Then, then he sees Anne. Henry can hardly bear to look at her. He had erased all of her that he could, had even tried to hide their daughter away from himself because he could not face it (sometimes he still cannot face it, for all that he adores Elizabeth) and now she is here. She is here and happy and holding two babies in her arms and the happiness in her face makes him want to break things. 

Makes him want to break himself. He has always known she was innocent however much he protested otherwise, however much he had made himself believe otherwise at the time. And now, now he is seeing what he might have had. What could have been. 

“The boy is Edmund and our youngest is Philippa” the other Henry says, pointing to the babies in Anne’s arms. One with red hair waving tiny fists and a tiny perfect bundle with dark curls. 

And then, then Henry sees Thomas Cromwell next to Anne and somehow, somehow he knows. Knows that his other self has somehow worked out the tangle of feelings he had had no idea what to do with and has everything, everything he had ever wanted. 

Henry wants to weep but finds he has not the strength to do so. It is too much, it is all too much.


End file.
